Pastmasters Of Speed

Some books are about speed. Others are, paradoxically, about preserving it—pinning it down, cataloguing it, and presenting it in a format that cannot possibly move faster than the reader’s turning page. Pastmasters of Speed is gloriously of that second kind: a celebration of velocity delivered at the dignified pace of print.

Written by Dennis May and published in 1958 by Temple Press, this is a book from the golden age of mechanical admiration, when speed was not merely a statistic but a virtue, a spectacle, and occasionally a national obsession. The title alone is magnificent. Pastmasters of Speed. Not just fast people, not merely notable drivers or engineers, but pastmasters—a word that suggests mastery, authority, and a faint whiff of ceremonial recognition. One half expects medals, goggles and a great deal of purposeful squinting into the wind.

This is the era when speed meant engines, fuel, courage and a slightly reckless disregard for personal comfort. It was about machines pushed to their limits and the individuals willing to sit inside them while doing so. Whether on road, track or perhaps even water, the pursuit of speed carried with it a peculiar blend of elegance and danger. And books like this exist to make sure that none of it goes unrecorded. After all, if one is going to go very fast, someone ought to write it down properly afterwards.

There is something deeply satisfying about mid-century motoring books. They treat their subject with a seriousness that borders on reverence. Speed is not a gimmick here. It is an achievement. The people involved are not influencers or personalities; they are figures of mechanical bravery and technical obsession. The machines are not lifestyle accessories; they are instruments of precision and risk. Everything feels purposeful, slightly austere, and entirely committed to the idea that going faster is both admirable and, if done correctly, a matter of great interest.

And yet, viewed from the comfort of the present, there is also a gentle irony in the whole enterprise. A book devoted to speed is, by necessity, still. It sits on a shelf. It waits patiently. It invites you to read about acceleration at a pace determined entirely by your own attention span. The roaring engines, the blur of motion, the thrill of velocity—all carefully contained within pages that will not move unless you make them. It is speed, domesticated.

As sold by Crappy Old Books, this particular copy is in Fine condition—near new—which feels almost suspiciously appropriate. A book about mastery and precision arriving in such immaculate state suggests it has been treated with the same respect as the machines it describes. Perhaps it was bought with enthusiasm and then preserved with care. Perhaps it sat on a shelf radiating quiet authority. Or perhaps it simply avoided the fate of many of its contemporaries and survived untouched by oily fingers and over-enthusiastic admiration.

There is a special pleasure in finding a near-new copy of a 1958 book. It feels like a small triumph over time. The paper is crisp, the binding firm, the dust jacket (one hopes) still carrying its original confidence. It allows you to experience the book almost as its first owner might have, minus the period context and plus several decades of hindsight. A rare and rather satisfying combination.

For collectors of motoring history, enthusiasts of mid-century engineering, lovers of speed in all its forms, or anyone who appreciates books that take their subject very seriously indeed, this is a gem. It is precise, respectful, and quietly thrilling in its own understated way. It belongs to that excellent category of books that do not shout about excitement but simply present it, trusting the reader to understand.

Pastmasters of Speed is a tribute to those who went fast when going fast was still an adventure, a discipline and occasionally a gamble. A book about movement that has itself stood still for decades, waiting to be opened again.

Condition: Fine, near new. Which is more than can be said for many of the machines and men it quietly celebrates. Sold by Crappy Old Books.

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